


Out Damned Spot

by Hinn_Raven



Series: RVB Angst War [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 13, RvB Angst War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Grey's hands are the hands of a surgeon. They don't shake while she's working. </p><p>Until the aftermath of the battle on Charon brings Sarge to her operating table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Damned Spot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/gifts).



> Continuing the pain-train, Iz asked for sargegrey: The first patient Grey treats on Charon? Sarge. Who she’s been stealth dating for the last year and no one knows cus it’s a secret

Doctor Emily Grey was very well acquainted with the necessity of triage. Start with the most urgent injury, work her way down.

The Reds and Blues were all moved back to Armonia as quickly as they could. She hadn’t come herself; she’d had to prep the infirmary. The final battle had been brutal, and as the top surgeon on the entire planet (really the top everything medical, because the rest of her staff were students who’d never spent a day in real medical school, only clinging to everything she said as she desperately tried to teach them to save as many lives as possible) she was running around, trying to keep things together.

Then she got the code blue, and she ran across the room to the ambulance entrance, where the Reds and Blues were being brought in.

Her medics had stripped most of them of their armor for practical reasons—only Tucker wore full armor still, for some reason, but his armor was strange and unfamiliar.

“Which one?” She called out as her eyes darted across all their faces.

“Sarge!” Simmons was bleeding heavily from the shoulder, but it had a field dressing, and he was standing on his own two feet, so she quickly moved past him to the figure on the stretcher. “Help Sarge!”

“That’s correct ma’am!” The medic who’s holding the end closest to her was a Rebel once, but now she was one of Emily’s most promising students.

Emily froze slightly as she stared at Sarge’s face, pale beneath the fine coating of blood that seemed to go everywhere.

She recovered quickly. “Bring him to the operating room right away! I need a full prognosis, _now_!”

The war began when Emily was so much younger. On the day the war officially started, she lost her best friend in a bombing. The years had dragged on, and the losses kept piling up. One after another, after another. Graves with soldiers ranks for people who had ran daycare centers and done taxes.

Emily had told Sarge about this, back before the truth about the war was known. Everyone around her died, and even though it happened to everyone in Chorus, it sometimes felt like a curse specifically attached to her.

He’d laughed, and pressed a stubble-edged kiss against her cheek. “Don’t worry, little lady,” he’d said, brown eyes sparkling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t you dare leave me,” she whispered almost to herself as she prepared.

It wasn’t that they’d meant to keep it a secret, she thought as she listened to the EMTs describing his injuries. It had just… happened. It had been dinners in the mess hall and walks along the battlements, and talking shop about robotic limbs.

And then it had become quiet kisses, and holding hands, and quiet conversations about the future.

Emily Grey’s hands were the hands of a surgeon. She had operated on her own sister, several of her closest friends, and many students. This was the first time she had ever operated on someone she was romantically involved with. Her hands remained steady as she held her tools and set to work.

Maybe they should have said something, but above all, Sarge was a soldier and Emily was a doctor. They were going to do their jobs above all else, and that had taken priority.

Three weeks into the war, Emily’s sister had died on the table, Emily’s hands covered in her blood. It had taken three days to get the blood out from under her fingernails.

After that, Emily had been sure to always operate in armor. Less mess that way.

The last time Emily and Sarge had been alone, it had been yesterday. There hadn’t even been time to take off their helmets to kiss. Instead she had placed her helmet against his, and whispered, “I love you.”

It had been the first time she had said it.

The nurse yelled, “We’re losing him!” Emily reached for the defibrillator and her hands were still steady.

“Clear!” She said, her voice not wavering. But she could feel tears creeping down her face.

“He’s not responding!” The nurse said. “Doctor, we’re losing him!”

“No, we’re not!” Emily snapped. “Clear!” Her hands were steady.

The nurse turned to her, face despondent. “Nothing!”

“Don’t you leave me,” Emily whispered. Her hands had begun to shake for the first time since—Emily couldn’t remember the last time her hands had been anything less than still while she was operating.

“Clear!”

There was nothing. Emily let the defibrillator fall to the ground.

“Time of death?” She said, and her voice cracked. She collapsed, sobbing, before she could even hear the nurse’s answer.


End file.
